


Far Behind Us (In Our Previous Life)

by LadyAndHerCat



Series: Who We Used To Be [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Crossover, Damian Wayne is Neal Caffrey, Damian Wayne is Not Robin, Gen, I did not want to write this but I need it out of my head, Not Beta Read, Secret Identity, im sure this needs more tags but I can’t think of anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:15:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29524194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAndHerCat/pseuds/LadyAndHerCat
Summary: Alvin Draper shows up at Neal Caffrey’s place of employment and now Peter has a headache. A Batkid shaped one.Or: Neal Caffrey used to be Damian Wayne
Relationships: Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Series: Who We Used To Be [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2201607
Comments: 24
Kudos: 165





	Far Behind Us (In Our Previous Life)

**Author's Note:**

> I did not want to write this fic. I did not want to write this here nor there or anywhere, but this crossover kidnapped my creativity and is holding it hostage, so here, have a one-shot. If people start supplying ideas, I may be forced to add a chapter or two, but as of right now I don’t have any plans to expand this. I already have a WIP that I can’t update on time and that I’m making up as I go, I don’t need two. 
> 
> If someone else wants to expand this, go right ahead, just link it so I can read it. 
> 
> I don’t have a specific timeline for this, but it happens pretty early on for White Collar, somewhere in the first or second season. I’m not completely clear on the Batman timeline, but this obviously would have to be pretty far down the road. Though I do put Damian as younger than Neal is in the show, maybe 25ish?

“We got a lead on those stolen Monets.” Peter starts talking as soon as he walks into his office. “An informant, says he knows who they’re going to hit next. Real skittish guy though, insisted on coming and meeting with us personally, no in-betweens or phone calls.”

“Phone calls are too easy to trace. I’d do the same thing. And these guys aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty, which doesn’t help,” Neal replies, sitting down at Peter’s desk to review the file. He flips through it, looking for the details about the informant. 

“Wouldn’t say when he’s coming in, other than ‘sometime today’.” He finds the page he was looking for and skims over it—and freezes. That _name_. It can’t be.

He scans through the rest of the pages. Alvin Draper, deals in information, never convicted, no known associates, Gotham native, moved to New York City in an attempt to go honest, got contacted by the group hitting Monet and decided to do the legal thing. Notes from the agent who made the initial contact said he was the nervous sort, as skittish and paranoid as they come. 

He swears in Arabic, Dari, Spanish, and every other language he could think of, ignoring Peter’s stare. Of course, of all the people to find him, it would be _him_. 

There was absolutely no way this was a coincidence. Drake knew he was here. And he _definitely_ wasn’t coming to New York just because of some Monets, no matter how violent the group that nicked them—but he certainly couldn’t tell Peter that. No, Drake had a reason to be here and he could only hope it wasn’t to deliver bad news. He hadn’t _heard_ anything, but then, Neal Caffrey wouldn’t. 

“You alright there, Caffrey? I didn’t know you knew that many languages,” Peter prods. 

“Nah, I only know swears in most of them,” he lies and flashes a Caffrey grin, deflecting. 

“So, you know this guy then?” He couldn’t deny it. That would only create suspicion when Drake showed up. 

“Yeah,” he admits. “Yeah, I know him.”

“So, tell me about him,” Peter prompts. 

“Well, he’s paranoid enough to put Mozzie to shame—“ for good reason, he didn’t say “—and saying he deals in information is a bit of a misnomer. He deals in favors, mostly, and he knows everything about everyone. He reads people better than anyone I’ve ever met, an amazing conman. He can hold a conversation with someone and walk away with everything he wanted to know without them even realizing they’ve given anything away.“

“Better than you?” Peter interrupts. 

“Better than me,” he concedes. “At this, at least. Draper doesn’t deal in forgeries. But Draper’s personas are impeccable and he’s nearly impossible to trip up. He puts up a front with almost everyone and you won’t ever find out unless he _let’s you_. It’s like meeting a whole different person.” 

“Know this from experience?” Peter asks. 

He snorts without amusement. “The only reason I know this is because we hated each other’s guts.” 

“Really? You, hating someone’s guts?” Peter sounds nearly incredulous.

“There were murder attempts,” he says solemnly, knowing Peter will take it as a joke and not the literal truth. 

“I take it Alvin Draper isn’t his real name then.” 

“Very doubtful. I knew him as Timothy Jackson, but I heard at least a dozen different names for him while I knew him. Those are probably burned by now, though. It’s been nearly ten years since the last time I saw him. 

“Do I need to watch for blood while he’s here?” Peter says it lightly, but Neal knows he’s serious. 

“No, no, we got past that. Near-death experiences have a way of bringing people together,” he says flippantly. 

Peter raises a brow and he shrugs back. It was mostly the truth, just... carefully formulated to encourage certain conclusions.

Diana knocks on the door and sticks her head in. “Hey, boss. Draper showed up, we’re getting him set up in the conference room, if you two want to head over there.” 

“Thanks Diana, we’ll be right over.”

He’d hoped for more time to prepare than this. Leave it to Drake to be as inconvenient as possible. 

They do indeed head right over and Neal spots Drake as soon as they walk in. Well, Draper really. As he told Peter, Drake commits to his aliases. 

He was seated in the corner of the room, fidgeting nervously with his tie and his ill-fitting suit coat. His eyes flicked around the room and his hair was a touch too long for the way he styled it. 

When they walked in, he stood but didn’t approach. “Hi. ‘M Alvin Draper. Y’must be Burke an’ Caffrey,” he mumbled in a thick Gotham accent. He didn’t give any sign of recognition—they were both too good for that. 

“Yes, I’m Peter Burke and this is my associate Neal Caffrey. Thank you for coming in today Mr. Draper. We appreciate you helping us out.” Peter was back in business mode now. 

They got right to it, fishing for any detail Draper might remember that could help them. It took some time and Draper played his part perfectly, of course. Skittish where he needed to be, enough information to be helpful but not suspicious, adamantly refusing to testify under any circumstance. Even Drake wouldn’t be able to avoid recognition then, not to mention being under oath to tell the _whole truth_.

They wrap it up and Diana and the rest leave, leaving just him, Peter, and Drake. 

“So what are you doing here, Timothy Jackson?” He asks with a grin. Drake, at least, could respect the need to maintain a persona, and the namedrop let him know which role to play.

Drake’s whole appearance changed; he leaned back, adopting an easy grin, tugging at the sleeves of his jacket until it fit properly, ruffling his hair until it fell around his face the way he preferred it. To a stranger, it might have seemed like he relaxed, but Damian knew better. Drake had simply traded one persona in for another. 

“Hey, I’m just doing my duty as an honest citizen. Imagine my surprise when I run into my old buddy Neal here. What a coincidence!” Uh-huh, _sure_. And asking him how he found Damian would be utterly pointless. Drake was very, very good at hiding things and that meant he knew how to _find_ them

.

“You and I both know this wasn’t a coincidence.” Damian let his grin take on a bit of an edge. “You know too much and you plan too well for this to be _chance_.”

“Is that a compliment?” Drake affects a surprised expression. “From the demon brat? I never thought I’d see the day!” 

Damian let his scowl show at that.

“Well, you plan for everything but being thrown out a window, so I guess it could still be chance,” he snarks. There, specific enough that Drake would get the reference, but innocuous enough that Peter wouldn’t start digging.

“Aww, there’s the Dami I know,” Drake coos, but his shoulders are tense. The barb hit him, and harder than it should have. Drake was too good to let something like that show, either. Something was _wrong_. Damian sits up and drops the scowl, lets his brow wrinkle the smallest bit in concern. 

“Timothy. _Why are you here?_ ”

Drake hesitates, face carefully blank. After a moment, he just closes his eyes and sighs. Damnit. There was only one reason that Drake would come all this way, but be so reluctant to tell him. He very carefully doesn’t sigh himself. This could be... _bad_. 

“Timothy, does Richard know you’re here? Does _anyone_ know you’re here?” Drake just winces. That would be a _no_. 

“Will they be able to figure out where you went?” Drake makes a so-so motion. 

Damian gives in and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Timothy, you’re supposed to _tell someone_ when it gets bad.” 

“I _did_ ,” he grumbles. Damian just gives him a judgmental look and waits. 

“... two months ago,” Drake mutters. Uh-huh, that what he thought. 

Next to him, Peter finally loses patience. “Okay, is someone going to tell me what is going on or do I have to figure it out myself?”

“Not right now, Peter.” He flashes a quick grin at Peter that he probably can see right through, and focuses back on Drake. “Do I need to call Richard and yell at him again?” 

“No, it’s not Dick’s fault, Dami, I swear! And he did really good when I told him about it two months ago! But then he got really busy with a case...” Drake trails off. 

“And he just assumed it was all better now,” he growls. Not a Bat growl, though. A normal, regular person growl. “Alright. Give me your phone.” 

“What! Why? I just told you it’s not his fault!” Drake sits up, instantly suspicious. 

“I need to call Todd, but I don’t have a recent number for him. And I can’t call the emergency line, he might storm up here in a panic, and that would... end poorly.” 

Drake winces at the phrasing, but then tilts his head as if a sudden thought occurred to him. Probably faked, knowing him. 

“Hey, do you know if he’s still on—“ Damian shamelessly cuts him off. 

“Do _not_ finish that question,” he glares. “Just give me the damn phone. Todd is in a much better position to beat it into Richard that—” 

“No! It’s not Dick’s fault, I told you! I don’t want Jason beating him up over this when it’s _not his fault_.”

“Metaphorically,” he interjects. Neal Caffrey is a _nonviolent_ criminal, after all.

“Uh-huh, does Jason know that?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t he?” He gives Drake an innocent Caffrey look, the kind that Peter never fell for, let alone Drake.

Drake glares at him, but finally tosses over the phone.

He quickly has Todd’s number pulled up and dialing. It rings a few times before he picks up. 

“Timbo, you better be safer than—“ Todd starts aggressively. 

“It’s Damian. Timothy’s with me, and yes he’s fine.” 

“Are you serious?! All it takes for you to finally get in touch is Timmers showing up ‘cause of his depression?” Todd seems vaguely offended but not completely surprised by this. 

“This is not me _getting in contact_ ,” he snaps. He keeps half an eye on Peter. This would be the worst time for him to start demanding answers. “I’m only calling because Timothy is at my place of employment and I need you to yell at Richard for me. Timothy says it’s not his fault, but he’s also _here_ , so his opinion doesn’t count.”

“Not that I’m not happy to yell at Dickface for you, but some more information would be nice.”

“Unfortunately I do not _have_ more information. Timothy is being recalcitrant,” he mutters sulkily. 

_“Dami, just let me talk to Jason.”_

_“No,” he sniffs. “You will lie about it.”_

“No I won’t!” Drake insists. “Just give me the phone!” 

“Yes you will! When, we thought Fa—Bruce was dead, when we thought _Richard_ was dead, the... _stuff_ that happened before I left—“

“Well I guess you shouldn’t have left then!” Timothy snaps. 

“You know why I couldn’t stay,” he says quietly. Todd is yelling through the phone now, tinny and distant. Drake deflates. 

“I’m sorry, Dami. I shouldn’t have said that,” he says, subdued. 

“It alright,” he mutters back. 

“—shoot something if someone doesn’t tell me what the _hell_ is going on!” Todd is yelling as he returns the phone to his ear. 

“Stop yelling, Todd, it’s fine.”

“No it’s _not_ fine, but I’ll ignore it for now. Tell me where you are, I’ll pick Timbo up. I’ll even drop off an Alfie care package for you.”

“No you will _not._ You don’t get to know where I am, you don’t get to know my name,” he snaps. He thinks a moment. “Actually, you can drop off a Pennyworth care package.”

“Uh-huh, _where_?” Todd gripes. He mulls it over for a minute. 

“New York City? That’s a good middle ground.” Drakes looks at him with something between horror and glee. 

“New York City? Really? Anything more specific for me?”

“Ah, how about the FBI building?” He knows that Todd can hear his amusement, so needs something to throw off the trail. “By the way, are you still on—“

“Yes,” he snarls. “Yes I am. _One_ duffle bag—”

“Oh that’s alright, I’m sure you can find a sufficient alias,” he says smugly. It’s a perfect distraction, if he does say so himself. Drake is trying to muffle his snickers, so it’s twice a success. “And if you could make it out the an Agent Peter Burke, that would be great.”

Drake has his face buried in the table now, and Peter is looking at him with something between disbelief and amazement. 

Todd hangs up on him. How rude. 

He sets the phone aside and stands up, ignoring Drake’s attempts to compose himself. 

“So, Peter, do you think I could get the rest of the day off?”

“Sure, why not,” Peter says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll just wait for the wanted criminal to show up at the goddamned FBI building while I look for new evidence against the Monet gang,” he gripes. 

“I didn’t say anything about wanted criminals. And don’t be ridiculous, Timothy just gave you plenty of evidence.”

“No, a _fake identity_ did.”

“I’m sure you’ll find that Draper’s records are thorough and complete, and that the Monet gang will confirm that they did indeed contact him for a job. We’ll be going now. See you tomorrow Peter.”

And they walked out. Tomorrow Peter will have questions and suspicions, and Todd will show up at some point, which will inevitably end in a disaster, but for now he had his brother. That was good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am heavily implying that Tim suffers from chronic depression and that Dick has (accidentally) triggered it in the past. Come on, the whole Bruce lost in time thing? Like, 98% of that arc is messed up. 
> 
> Yes, Tim was about to ask if the Red Hood is still on the FBI’s top ten most wanted list.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it, leave a comment, all that good stuff. I take con crit.


End file.
